


Dangerously Close

by kelex



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: Edward is afraid of getting close to Oswald after the deaths of his previous girlfriends.





	Dangerously Close

**Author's Note:**

> @granpappy-winchester helped so much with brainstorming and the evental shape of the story. Bless.

Dangerously Close

Edward Nygma looked at the body at his feet and had to close his eyes suddenly. A nauseating wave of deja-vu washed over him, as if he were back three years ago, in a different little apartment with Kristen Kringle strangled by his own hand. 

Not for nothing was the comparison apt, seeing as how Isabella had refused to take the message from Oswald, had refused Edward's attempt to leave her, and instead had insisted on playing dress-up. The sweater, the pin, the colored hair, the glasses, everything had ceased to be Isabella and had become Kristen again, and to his utter horror history had repeated itself. 

At the moment Edward realized what he'd done, his consciousness drifted, again. The sense of unreality that had been dogging him in the days since Isabella death sucked him under, and he was lost in it. The apartment was a funhouse mirror, with warped reflections of Isabella and Kristen dancing with each other, capering around Ed’s cringing form like manic elves. 

Kristen’s dismembered corpse lay spread out on Isabella’s table, while Isabella stitched her back together with black thread. All the while, Isabella hummed “The Skeleton Dance” as she worked. “The foot bone’s connected to the ankle bone, the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone…”

He surfaced from the fugue state in a rush, a thin scream trickling out like steam from a kettle. Isabella was still lying on the couch, where he'd laid her because he couldn't bear for her to be on the floor. 

Dragging fingers through his hair, Ed realized he had no idea what time it was, what day, or how long it had been. 

He turned his face toward the couch, studying Isabella carefully. But even as he searched her face for answers, he drifted out again. Blissfully silent this time, Isabella slowly blurred, then faded to wispy clouds as his unfocused eyes stared into the void. 

In the nothingness, Ed heard or recognized not a single thing. Not the ticking of his watch, not the shrill scream of ignored alarms, not the jarring jangle of missed phone calls. 

He resurfaced an interminable moment later to stillness, and he was still looking at his most beloved Isabella. It meant, he realized, staring at her body, that nothing and no one he loved was safe. That was fine, because there was no one else he cared for as he had Isabella. 

Except Oswald. 

At the thought of his best friend, Edward spiraled away from it, away from the horrifying image of Oswald dead and draped over the couch beside Isabella. He couldn't bear the idea of it, and retreated. 

\-----

Oswald Cobblepot was fretting. Not that he'd admit it, of course. But to the well-trained eye of anyone who knew the Mayor for more than five seconds, it was quite obvious. In fact, it was quite possible that he was actually stewing, because of that Isabel woman and his Ed. 

He'd played nicely. He'd tried to scare her off by telling her about Edward's time in Arkham, but that had apparently backfired because she was undeterred. Then, at Ed's behest, he had actually gone and talked to the woman, again, tried to make her understand that she was extraneous to the equation, that Ed didn't need her, and did she really want to die?

Obviously the answer was yes, because she'd continued to try and sink her claws into Ed and Oswald was giving total and complete consideration to killing her. In fact, he was mid-way through dialing Gabe's number when the phone trilled in his hand. It wasn’t Ed, it wasn’t even a number he recognized, and he didn’t bother answering it. He sent it straight to his voicemail, and went back to dialing. He didn’t even wait for Gabe to say hello, just launching into speech as soon as the line clicked. “Gabe! We’re going to find Ed. Get the car, bring it around, and load it up with everything. If you’ve got another rocket launcher, bring it. Do you have grenades? A nuclear weapon? Pack it. Everything you’ve got.”

“Sure thing, Boss. Want me to call Zsasz?”

Now there was a thought. Victor was certainly good at what he did, and was very able to find people who didn’t necessarily want to be found. “I’ll call him if Ed’s not at his house,” was Oswald’s final decision. But he had to do something, and do it now, and to be completely honest, he didn’t want anyone else inside Edward’s house. That was Ed’s space, and Oswald was jealously protective of it.

“Okay, Penguin. Anything you say.” 

“Good.” That was the only response that Oswald had been expecting, and once he’d gotten it, he dropped the phone onto the table and grabbed onto the nearest chair back. He was trying very hard not to be frantic about things, because Ed *was* a grown adult and *could* take care of himself, but Oswald was also very aware that people knew Ed was his best friend, and the thought of Ed getting hurt to get at Oswald? Like his mother had been? That made him just a little crazed and a lot reckless. 

\-----

He had been comfortably floating in nothingness, quiet and unaware and while neither happy nor content, Ed was at least not feeling anything. He was slowly brought out of it by a quiet, regular thrumming. As he surfaced, the thrumming became a pounding, and he slowly came to realize someone was pounding on the front door, though the shouting was muffled and he could not identify who. He supposed it could have been the police, and he wasn’t certain that he cared. 

\-----

Oswald had been pounding on Ed’s door for the last five minutes, the penguin-shaped head of his cane leaving small dents in the surface. “Ed!” he shouted, just as he’d shouted ten times before, and finally he gave up. “Kick it down,” he ordered, and then instantly followed it up with “Wait!”

Gabe hopped back on one foot, regaining his balance. Oswald took his cane and shattered the hall light globe, and a house key fell out among the shards of glass. “Forgot about the spare,” he said with a little shrug, and nearly broke the key off in the lock shoving it in. 

The lock clicked open, and Oswald burst in, pistol at the ready. Gabe was behind him with a shotgun and a machine gun, and Oswald waved him back when he saw Ed at the table, and Isabel, Isabella, well, whatever her name was, lying on the couch. “Ed!” Edward’s head turned slowly, and Oswald could tell he wasn’t focusing. “Gabe, get out. Guard the door, don’t let anyone in.”

The man walked out, and Oswald leaned his cane against the wall as he went over to Edward. “Ed?” asked softly, and then when he got no response, he got louder. “Ed!” That got no response either, so Oswald shook Edward’s thin shoulders, and then again, harder. “Edward!!” 

The two shakes had earned Oswald a slow blink, though not recognition, and that left one thing. Biting his lip, Oswald drew his hand back and slapped Ed’s face. “ED!”

The slap was shocking; a sharp crack of flesh against cheekbone that echoed in the quiet room, and Ed blinked hard, shaking his head. “Oswald?” 

“Ed!” Oswald simply didn’t care; he threw his arms around Edward and hugged him tightly. “Oh my God, Ed, you had me so worried. I called and I called, but you never picked up. You missed--Ed, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Clearly Oswald was worried about him. Before he’d even said it, the concern was written all over his face. Which meant more time had passed than Ed had been aware of. “Um, no. It’s not okay,” was his only answer.

All right. Oswald wasn’t going to get any more answers out of Ed like this, so he did what Edward would have done for him. “Up, on your feet, Ed.” He hauled and he pulled until Edward was standing, and he half-dragged and half-guided Ed down the hallway and into the bathroom. Any other time he might’ve checked the water temperature, set out a few towels, made sure everything was perfect. This time, all he did was remove Ed’s glasses, turn the cold faucet on, and shoved his fully-dressed best friend under the freezing shower head.

The cold water hit his slapped face first, and it was a jolt of ice against the heated flesh. His hands, his face, even his scalp was instantly cold and getting more frigid by the moment as his clothes soaked through. But the cold did the job of waking him up as his brain forced him into awareness. It was either freeze to death or wake up and *do* something about it, and he was waking up as if from a bad dream. 

He looked around, recognized his own shower, and wondered why he’d gotten in fully clothed. Everything was a blur, and he realized it meant he must have taken off his glasses beforehand, and--”Oswald? What are you doing in my bathroom?”

“Edward!” Oswald reached into the shower and turned the cold spray off, bundling a thick towel around Ed’s dripping shoulders, and got another to start drying his hair and face off with. “You’re back.”

“I must be,” Edward agreed, and it only took his now-cleared mind a few minutes to both remember what had happened and to extrapolate what was going on now. “How long?”

“Three days. Three days, Ed!” The anger was long gone, and panic was the only remnant of emotion in Penguin’s shouted answer. “I called and I called, and you missed the daily staff meetings and I was worried sick!” He kept scrubbing Ed’s arms and back. “What the hell is going on?” 

“There’s been a… snag,” Edward answered after a moment, not sure what else to call it. An incident, perhaps. “An incident. Isabella. After your talk with her, she flatly refused to take herself out of my life. In fact, when I arrived at her apartment, she had done a bit of research. She said she found the photographs of Kristen--Miss Kringle--in the newspapers, and had dressed like her.” A cough to clear his throat, and he let the towel he’d been drying his hair with fall around his shoulders. “Well. You can perhaps imagine how that went.”

Yes, Oswald certainly could--and had. In living color, with a soundtrack. Hearing Edward actually say it? Was like a parade down Main Street. “What do you need, Ed? Anything you need, it’s yours.” 

Edward gave it a moment’s thought, picking up his glasses and putting them on, so that everything came into sharp focus again. “Isabella was about to go out of town to a librarian’s convention. Perhaps a bit of assistance in making it appear as if she did leave town?” 

Oswald would’ve cheerfully set the body on fire himself if Ed had asked. “Leave it to me, Ed. You get some dry clothes on, and I’ll take care of everything.” He was smiling proudly, like a boyfriend who’d just been asked to beat up the class bully. “Why don’t you pack a few things while you’re at it, and you can come stay at the mansion with me,” he offered. “Gabe will drive her car to the airport, or the bus terminal, or whatever she was using to get out of town, and we’ll handle it from there.” 

Yes, a change of scenery would be welcome. Though he’d never darken the door of Isabella’s apartment again, he’d brought her back to his to keep her close, and to have a place that she had never been was a welcome change. “Yes, thank you, Oswald. That would be delightful.” 

Oswald was just beaming at him. “Great!” He clapped his hands and left Ed alone in the bathroom, almost skipping in his excitement. Gabe was still waiting outside the door, and Oswald opened it, beckoned him in, and started dispensing orders.

As soon as Oswald, left, though, Ed’s mirror reflection started talking to him again. “This is a great idea, Ed.”

“Shut up.” Ed threw the wet towels into the hamper, making sure both fell in before starting to peel his wet clothes off. 

“Put yourself in close proximity to the only other person you care about right after you murdered the love of your life.” Mirror-Ed was speaking with a mix of sarcasm and humor. “Because that isn’t going to end badly at all.” 

Ed’s wet shirt hit the hamper with a thwack, and he shivered in the cool air. “I would never hurt Oswald.”

“Yes. Just like you’d never hurt Isabella, either. Or Kristen.” Mirror-Ed was relentless. “You’re not a safe person, Eds. Better to just send Oswald away, and take care of Isabella yourself. Get him out of harm’s way, and you don’t have to share the woman you love with anyone.” 

There was merit in that suggestion, and Ed was still considering it when Oswald knocked on the door. “What is it?”

“I, uh, well, there’s dry clothes for you right outside the door, and I’m making some tea to get you warm. Hurry, or it’s going to get cold.” Oswald’s voice was muffled through the closed bathroom door, and Ed realized he hadn’t bothered to open it. He did so now, and tried to give what he thought would be a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.” He quickly retrieved the clothes, and carefully closed the door on Oswald’s concern.

And tried not to think about how much of a wounded bird Oswald looked like when he was shut out.

\---

Ed emerged from the bathroom dry, chilly, and in full possession of his faculties. He’d noticed with some misplaced amusement that Oswald had chosen his clothes carefully--mostly because they’re what Ed himself might have chosen. Comfort clothes, a dark green suit, a crisp white shirt and dark socks that were still warm from the dryer. Small things, but they strengthened his resolve even further not to let Oswald get any further entwined in the situation than he already was. 

He noticed, too, as he sat at the table, that Isabella was still on the couch, but she had been carefully covered with a clean blanket. He appreciated that, and got up from the table to tuck a loose end carefully around her shoulders and head. No sense in letting her get any colder. A lock of her hair had fallen out and trailed down one of the cushions, and Edward lovingly tucked it back in under the blanket. “I’m sorry, Isabella.” 

Oswald was watching Ed closely, pouring the tea and laying a plate of warm buttered toast beside it. He fussed in the kitchen, looking for sugar and milk and lemon juice, clean silverware and extra butter, anything to stay and keep an eye on what Ed was doing without being *obvious* he was staring.

The blanket had been lying on the back of Ed’s couch, and Oswald had just chucked it over the body because he was tired of seeing the woman’s face. But he watched Ed touching it like it was a fragile burial shroud, and he wanted to throw something. But he didn’t, instead slamming his cane into the floor with every step back towards the table. “Gabe’s going to need the keys to her car, but I didn’t--” *want to touch her* “--want to disrespect her. I thought you might have them.” Oswald had to bite his tongue and change direction mid-thought. 

“They’re in her purse.” Ed got up from his crouch on the floor, and kissed Isabella’s forehead through the blanket. Her purse was sitting on the coffee table, and he reached into the front pocket. Her keys were there, but instead of giving them to Oswald, he closed his fist around them. “Oswald. You are… a wonderful friend, and I am very grateful that you came. But I feel like I should be the one to take care of her.”

Her. Not it. Take care of. Not get rid of. Oswald could feel his eye twitch and strained to hold it still. “Nonsense, Ed. That’s what friends are for, right?” A deep breath, because this was going to require a very specific dialog. “You’ve been through a terrible experience, and I feel like as your friend, I should be helping you through this. Because I do understand what it’s like to lose someone you love so very much.” There was the gag reflex.   
Edward stood firm. “You’re very kind. But I can’t let you take responsibility for something that I have done, and something that I need to take care of. Isabella is mine.” 

“Ed.” Deep breath, again, and that was cleansing. “This has been traumatic for you, and it’s the least that I can do.” His fingers gripped the head of his cane under the table. “Please.”

*Please.* Isabella hadn’t really said please. She’d taken control, taken his hands in hers, put them around her neck and he’d squeezed. Tighter and tighter, feeling her skin crinkle under his fingers, listening to the gasping and choking of her breath fighting to fill her lungs. Her hands had grabbed onto his wrists and tried to pull his hands off, and her eyes had looked up at him with pleading until they’d closed forever. 

Pleading, like the expression on Oswald’s face now. 

Edward jolted to his feet. “I’m sorry, Oswald, but I’m going to have to decline your generous invitation. I'm obviously not fit company for anyone right now, and I'm very dangerous to those people I care about." 

Oswald heard two things in that statement; one, Ed was saying no, and two, Ed was saying that he cared. The first one would not stand at all, but the second one made him nervous and a little fluttery. "I'm not afraid of you, Ed."

"Neither was Isabella," Edward pointed out. “Obviously that’s a mistake on both of your parts.”

"I'm not going to dress up like your ex-girlfriend and practically dare you to murder me," came the pragmatic reply. “I am going to take you back to the mansion, get you some real food, a-a nice bedroom, a hot shower this time, and a fire in the fireplace.” 

“No, I’m sorry. Oswald, I can’t. You’re going to have my resignation first thing tomorrow, in fact.” 

The mention of resignation sent panic fluttering through Oswald’s stomach. “Ed, no. You’re overreacting. Let’s just take it slowly, all right? Let me help you, like you’ve helped me.” Oswald reached out and put his hand on Ed’s, squeezing gently. “Please. We’ll do it together.” 

Ed just shook his head, but let Oswald’s entreaty get to him. “All right. Together.”

“Thank you,” came Oswald’s reply, and it wasn't hard to miss the relief in his voice. 

“But.” He raised his finger. “I will be the one to move her.”

“Sure,” Oswald agreed, a bit of an edge to his voice. He held out his hand, and after a few long moments, Ed's fist relaxed and released his death grip on Isabella’s car keys. Oswald took the fob and passed it over to Gabe. 

“You got a suitcase that needs to go, too?” Gabe asked sensibly. 

Edward's throat closed around the bite of toast he'd just taken, because no, he hadn't thought about that. 

Oswald read the signs. “How about I go?” he offered. He certainly did not want to set foot in the woman's home, but he *especially* did not want Edward to return there, and he was fairly certain that Ed wouldn't want Gabe tromping around. “Ed, you can wait in the car, and if I need anything, I'll call you.”

“No, thank you.” It was difficult to strangle the words out past the panic. “I owe it to Isabella to take care of her myself, and not have strangers in her personal spaces.”

Oswald prided himself on his ability to lie. “Strangers? Nonsense, she was practically family, Ed. Anyone you love is someone who is important to me, too.” Technically not a lie; it *was* important to him that she be forgotten as quickly as possible. 

The blatant exaggeration of Oswald’s statements brought a quick smile to Ed's face, but it was gone just as quickly. “I appreciate the attempt to spare me a difficult situation, but I need to be the one to pack her things. From a practical standpoint, I am the one who would know what she would take and how long she will be gone.”

Oswald was going to keep protesting, but a new instinct told him to give in gracefully. “Well, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least offer. I'll wait for you in the car. But you aren't going alone and that's that.”

That earned a genuine smile, however small. “Your company is always welcome, Oswald.”

\-----

In the end, gathering Isabella’s things had gone far easier than expected. To Edward’s surprise, he found a packed suitcase in the closet, along with with a small carry-on bag that had an itinerary pinned to the strap. A bus ticket was tucked in the carry-on, and Edward carried both down to the car. He turned both pieces of luggage over to Gabe, and settled into the back seat of Oswald’s car. “She was already packed and ready for the trip,” Edward said fondly by way of explanation. 

“Wasn’t she a peach.” Oswald’s sense of sincerity was being stretched to the limit, but for Ed’s sake, he was trying. “Are we ready to go home now?”

“Yes, I think so.” Edward took a deep breath. “I have said my final goodbyes to Isabella, and I think that I can let her go.” 

“Great!” That was a little too chipper, and Oswald dialed it down a bit. “I mean, it’s great that you feel that way. I’m glad that you got to say goodbye to her, and I hope it means that you’re ready to try to put it behind you.”

Edward favored Oswald with another smile. “Isabella is always going to be a part of me, but yes, I think it’s best that we both begin to act as if we never knew of her.” His hand brushed idly over his jacket pocket, where he’d slipped the paper dolls from her desk. 

“If that’s what you feel is best, then certainly.” Oswald smirked inwardly; that was not going to be a chore at all. In fact, he was already halfway there.

\-----

Back at Oswald’s mansion, Edward’s suitcase had been taken to a bedroom. A roaring fire was set in the fireplace of the sitting room, and Olga had brought in a meal of hot coffee, chicken soup, and two turkey sandwiches. Oswald was fussing in the background as Edward sat at the long table alone, spoon stirring the soup idly as he stared into the bowl. 

The broth reminded him of the color of Isabella’s hair, the noodles in the broth floating like dismembered body parts. Just to keep Oswald from worrying, every time he looked over, Edward lifted the spoon to his mouth, swallowing the hot soup slowly. 

The coffee and sandwiches went down faster, because even though Ed hadn’t realized he was hungry, once he’d tasted the turkey he’d wolfed down both sandwiches in quick succession. Olga had refilled his coffee cup three times, and he was feeling particularly warm and somewhat melancholy. 

Carrying the coffee to the sofa where Oswald was perched in front of the fire, he took a seat at the far end, keeping as much safe space between himself and Oswald as possible. He still didn’t trust himself. 

“Feeling better?” Oswald asked, inching just a little closer to Ed as he spoke so there was only the distance of a couch cushion between them. 

“More human, at least,” Edward answered honestly. He was feeling more like himself than he had since Isabella’s death, and it was thanks to Oswald’s careful care. Which made him all the more determined to keep the space between them, physically and figuratively. “Thank you, Oswald, again. You’re a true friend, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me today.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Oswald flapped his hand in the air as if waving the issue away. “What else are friends for? I’m just happy you’ve let me be here for you.” 

Edward didn’t really have an answer for that, and so he simply settled back quietly and finished his coffee in silence. The silence stretched, long and comfortable. When the coffee cup was empty, Oswald took it from Edward and sat it gently on the table before coming back to the couch. He knew that he should talk, try to fill the silence, knew that Oswald was just waiting for him to say the word to spring into action, but there was nothing he wanted to say, or to hear, at that moment, that wasn’t silence. 

It was somewhat uncharacteristic of Oswald, but he made himself sit still. He didn’t shift or squirm, he didn’t bounce with the anticipation of Ed’s conversation, he didn’t wiggle with a bit of the happiness that filled him when Ed was with him. Edward had demonstrated what he needed was quiet and solitude, and Oswald was going to give that to him. 

Several hours passed, and Oswald stayed silent. Once he got up to tend the fire, trailing his fingertips over the back of Edward’s shoulder, and that won him a slightly distracted smile which he treasured. *I’m here for you, Ed,* the touch seemed to convey without words, and it was obviously understood. Olga came in and cleared the dishes, and Oswald left the couch to walk to the doorway and discuss the menu in hushed tones. The discussion consisted of, *We’re not going to have dinner tonight, Olga. If we get hungry later, we’ll call. Just make sure there’s coffee and tea for Ed, and breakfast in the morning, eight o’clock.*

*Yes sir, Mr. Cobblepot.*

The dying rays of the sun grew long and started throwing shadows in the room before Edward spoke again. “I’m sorry, I’m not good company tonight. I think I’d like to be alone for a little while, do you mind?”

Politely asked, and Oswald couldn’t decline it. “Of course not. Come on, I’ll show you up. You probably remember the way, though, it’s the same room as always.” 

Yes, he did remember. The same room as always, right across the hall from Oswald’s master suite. *Just across the hall if you need me!* had been the cheerful chirp the first time he’d stayed there, and now that narrow hallway was an uncrossable gulf. “I do, yes, but as always, your company would be welcome.” 

A sunny smile from Oswald that seemed to brighten the entire room. “All right, then!” His cane steadied his gait as he led the way from the room to the stairs, and up the stairs to the bedrooms. It wasn’t a long trip, for all of the house being huge, and he used the head of the penguin cane to push open the door of Ed’s room. “There you go. If you like, I can unpack for you while you clean up and get ready for bed,” he offered. 

“That’s not necessary. I’m a friend, not a guest.” 

“Well, I want you to think of yourself as family,” Oswald said firmly. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like--I’d love it, in fact, if you stayed.” Hanging on the door leading to the bathroom was Oswald’s favorite robe, gold and brocade and freshly cleaned. “Please.”

Edward just shook his head. He needed time away from his own space, but... “You’re too kind, but of course I’ll stay.”

Oswald’s face practically lit up with his happiness at Ed’s easy agreement. “All right then! I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early! Breakfast is at eight, but if you need to sleep in, Olga will hold you something in the oven until you’re ready.”

“Eight is fine,” he reassured. “Good night, Oswald.”

“Good night, Ed!” He watched as Edward closed the bedroom door, and then crossed the hallway to his own bedroom. Ed was home, he was safe, Isabella was gone, and all was going right in Oswald’s world.

\-----

It started going downhill at breakfast the next morning, because Edward wasn’t there. Nor was he in his bedroom, and there was no note. So Oswald was in a fine mood by the time he got to City Hall.

Only to find Edward already there, coffee urn full, telephone tucked between cheek and shoulder as his fingers flew furiously over the computer’s keyboard. “Yes, that would be fine. The Mayor’s schedule is a bit tight next week, but I believe we can move a few things around to make that work for you. I’ll make sure his assistant gets the message, and we’ll update the calendar. No, thank you for calling. Goodbye.” Ed looked up curiously as the door to Oswald’s office slammed open. “Good morning, Mayor Cobblepot.”

Oswald wasn’t even sure which to address first, *Good morning,* like there wasn’t anything wrong, or *Mayor Cobblepot,* like they didn’t know each other on a first-name basis. “Good morning?”

“I think so, yes.” Ed closed the office door behind Oswald, and put his hand on two stacks on the desk. “The red stack is what you as Mayor of Gotham City need to deal with, and the green stack is what you as the head of Gotham’s underworld need to deal with. Your schedule for the next four days is in the red folder, and I left notes for whomever is handling your actual calendar to change the dates of some of your appointments,” he finished. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking back on his heels. 

Fine. If Ed could play this game, so could Oswald. “Missed you at breakfast this morning,” was his only comment as he sat down behind his desk. The red stack, at the moment, was thicker than the green, and so he pulled the top pages of red folders off to page through. 

Edward did have the grace to look slightly sheepish. “I couldn’t get back to sleep after waking up before sunrise. I thought I’d come in early and get a bit of work done.”

“Really.” Oswald flipped through the first red folder, noticing that Edward had thoughtfully shifted his meeting with the City Council to Monday, which gave Butch three extra days to get the bribes paid out. He supposed there was a matching schedule for that in the green stack. It didn’t miss his attention that the folders were Ed’s favorite shade of dark green.

“Bad dreams,” was the only answer Edward offered, and he stood quietly, waiting for Oswald to give him orders. 

“Sit down,” was Oswald’s first order, because it was making him nervous to have Edward looming over him. “Thank you, by the way, for moving this meeting. Butch needs the extra time.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Edward’s smile was warm, but professional. He didn’t much care for Butch Gilzean, the apathy was entirely reciprocal, and that was pretty much the only thought he gave to it. “I did, however, have to leave the Eagle Scouts meeting on your docket, because they’re only meeting once a month right now, and this particular meeting is their awards dinner. You’re scheduled to hand out several public service recognition awards, and the information is… here.” Edward reached into the pile of folders, seemingly at random, and withdrew one with the Eagle Scout logo on it. “There’s a first draft of a speech inside, I took the liberty of writing it this morning. It needs your input, and then I’ll pass it onto the speechwriter for a final draft.” 

Oswald took the folder from Ed, and gave him a smile. “Go ahead, dive in. You organized it, it’s your show.”

Ed’s smile turned into a real grin. He couldn’t help it; whatever trust that Oswald showed in him always warmed him deep inside. But he clamped down hard, scooting his chair up to the other side of the desk and pulled a stack of red folders over. “We should be able to work through this in no time.”

“Sure, we’re doing it together!” Oswald handed Ed the stamp of his signature, and dove into his own pile of work.

\-----

The next few days passed in relative harmony and quiet, with Oswald feeling quite chipper about everything. Edward had pitched in--more than required, in fact--and whatever backlog there’d been after the week was completely cleared, and the rest of his schedule had been set for the month. Steady, but not overworked, plenty of time for the *other* business of running Gotham’s underworld, and with enough free time slots in the meantime so that Oswald wasn’t over-stressed to a murderous rampage. 

So he wanted to do something nice to show his appreciation to Edward, specifically, and so the Mayor of Gotham City ordered a nice, big catered lunch for the entire office, with something special for himself and Ed. Sitting by Ed’s plate was a black velvet box, inside which nestled platinum question-mark cufflinks and matching tie pin. 

The luncheon went off without a hitch, and the office spent the better part of the lunch break grouped in small bunches,, eating desserts and drinking coffee. Oswald pulled Ed into the office, apologizing by means of, “Sorry to take you away, but I need to talk to Ed for a few minutes before we get back to work!”

Inside Oswald’s office, a small tier of decorated cupcakes sat in a tower on the desk, and a carafe of espresso with a pair of small egg-shaped cups sitting beside it. And by one of the plates, the black box. Oswald sat behind the desk, and nudged Ed to do the same. “Well, come on, have a cupcake!”

Edward sat across from Oswald, plucking a cupcake with green accents from the tower and pouring espresso into the cups. He pushed one full cup over to Oswald, and looked down at the box. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you!” Oswald was beaming brightly, and almost wiggling in his chair. “Just a little thank you.”

Edward picked up the box and cracked it open, thumb caressing one of the cufflinks. “I come as a pair, yet my partner and I never meet. A well dressed man cannot leave home without me. What am I?”

Oswald blinked. “What?” He hadn’t expected an expostulation of enthusiasm or anything, but he also hadn’t expected a riddle. 

“It’s a riddle,” Ed answered unnecessarily. “The answer is, obviously, cufflinks.” They were brightly shined without a fingerprint on them, and they were shaped like question marks, which was a motif echoed on the square tie tack as well. The cufflinks were absolutely perfect, and Edward loved them on sight. “Oswald, I don’t know what to say. I don’t think… I don’t think I have anything to wear with them.”

Oswald’s face fell almost immediately. Not even a thank you, just a reminder that Oswald was a failure at gifting things. “Well, it’s not a big deal anyway,” was his answer, striving hard for dismissive, and once again, failing obviously. 

“Thank you.” Ed had already slipped the box into his jacket pocket, patting it absently. He dropped the cupcake wrapper into the trash as he bit into the sweet treat, chewing carefully. 

Oswald’s cupcake remained untouched.

\-----

Four days later, a wrapped package appeared on Edward’s bed, and he looked at it with trepidation. The wrapping paper was green, the ribbon was black, and the tag was simply addressed, *To Edward.* Obviously the giver was Oswald, but Ed still poked the package carefully, out of caution. When nothing exploded, he tugged the ribbon and carefully removed the paper.

The paper revealed the intertwined G & B logo of Gotham Bespoke on the box, and he studied it for a moment until it occurred to him that this was Oswald’s tailor--one of the most elite in the city. Carefully prying the lid from the box revealed a stack of five white French-cuff dress shirts. Ed shook each shirt out carefully and put them on hangers, looking at the creamy perfection of each one with delight. 

Out of the last shirt pocket, a note fell. *A well-dressed man can now leave the house.* 

“Oh, Oswald,” Ed said fondly. He’d said he had nothing to wear with the cufflinks, and Oswald had made sure that now, he did. Not only had Oswald gotten him new French-cuffed shirts, the discreet label inside the shirts--which matched the logo on the box--also matched the labels on every single other outfit in his closet. Which, of course, meant that Oswald had only ever bought the absolute best for Edward’s wardrobe.

From over his shoulder, his reflection reminded him. “You’re going to end up killing him, you know.”

“I know.” Ed slowly closed the closet door, hiding the dress shirts from view. “But he’s my friend.”

Mirror-Ed snickered. “Friend. Yes. Of course.” Another snicker. “Put that on his tombstone, why don’t you. Beloved Friend, Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Shut up.” Edward closed his eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself imagining exactly what his reflection had described. Oswald’s grave, with himself standing beside it, holding a black umbrella and looking at a headstone engraved with *Oswald Cobblepot, Mayor of Gotham and Beloved Friend.*

He opened the closet again, took the velvet box out of its home in his jacket pocket, and put it on the top shelf of the closet. Next, he carefully refolded each shirt along their original creases before tucking them back into the box they’d come in. The shirts went on the top shelf beside the cufflinks, both gifts out of sight but not out of mind. Then he closed the door again, and leaned against it, confronting his silent reflection in the mirror. 

\-----

Three days after the shirts, Ed found another box on his bed. This one wasn’t wrapped, but it was once again black velvet. Not certain what to expect, he carefully cracked the box open. Nestled on the pillowy satin insert was a switchblade knife. The handle looked to be hand-carved, bone or ivory, and it had been capped with pure silver. 

The silver end-cap had been engraved with Edward’s initials, and when he flipped it over, instead of a brand name or maker’s mark, the small gold circle had a single question-mark stamped into it. The button responded to a featherlight, delicate touch, and the blade sprung out instantly. It was razor sharp, honed to lethality, and Edward did something he had always wanted to do: he ran his thumb along the edge. 

The skin parted immediately like butter, red welling up in the wake of the blade. Closing his eyes, he slipped his thumb into his mouth and sucked the blood off, relishing the coppery taste on his tongue. He expected the voice in his head to speak up with a snide comment, but it was, for the moment, blissfully silent. 

It was the perfect length to fit into his trouser pocket, and made not a wrinkle. He touched the hilt of the knife through his pocket, rubbed his uninjured thumb across it, carefully avoided the button. 

That’s when the voice spoke back up. “Brilliant, Edsel. Just brilliant. Carry a completely lethal weapon in your pocket when you’re working side by side with your best friend. That’s not stupid at all, no.” 

Reluctantly, Edward returned the knife to it’s case, and placed the case on the top shelf of the closet, beside the shirts and the cufflinks.

“Better.”

\-----

Oswald was quietly getting more annoyed. “The cufflinks and the dress shirts, okay, it’s possible that he wants to save them for something special. I mean, he’s been wearing the black suits and the ties, and apparently loves them, so it’s not like he doesn’t like them.” Oswald was pacing back and forth, talking out loud but not really addressing his comments to Olga, who stood impassively in the corner. “But the knife? Really?”

Olga was mute, just watching Oswald pace. She didn’t even bother nodding, just turning her head side to side as Oswald crossed in front of her like she was watching a tennis match. Occasionally she rolled her eyes, surprised that they didn’t rattle in the sockets as Mr. Cobblepot rambled and rambled, obviously not expecting a reply. 

And she was grateful for that too, because honestly, he wouldn’t have liked what she’d have said. But her opinion wasn’t solicited, and so she stood quietly. 

For his part, Oswald didn’t actually *care* what Olga thought, nor was he really even aware of her continued presence until she interrupted with, “Are you finished with breakfast, Mr. Cobblepot?”

Taking a deep breath, Oswald whirled on Olga. “Yes, thank you. Take it and go.” 

Olga cleared the table onto the large silver tray without a word, and returned only to fill Oswald’s coffee cup before departing to the kitchen. 

Once he was alone in the room, Oswald let out a grunt of frustration. Ed was being just *impossible.*

\-----

Two weeks to the day after the knife, another parcel appeared. 

This one was relatively small, not quite hand-sized, and left on his pillow like an oversized mint. It didn’t rattle; it was more of a muffled thump. Unwrapping it revealed another G&B logo, and inside the box, hand-tailored leather gloves with green and gold stitching. They’d been somehow fitted for his hand, and Ed wondered exactly how Oswald had managed that bit of magic. 

Pulling the gloves on, they fit like a second skin. Smooth and soft as his fingers flexed, he pressed his fingertips together and pressed them against his chin. They were warming with his body heat, and it almost felt as if Oswald’s fingers were stroking over his skin. 

He ripped the gloves off his hands, all but throwing them back into the box and shoving the box on the top shelf. The shelf was starting to get a little full, with the cufflinks and shirts still in the box, the knife box, and now the gloves, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to put it. He wasn’t sure what else he could hide in the closet without it screaming out like Poe’s hidden heart. The whole closet was filled nearly floor to ceiling with gifts from Oswald, and it was starting to crowd out his clothes.

His own heart was pounding as he tried to breathe through it all; he was really not doing as well as he’d hoped keeping his distance from Oswald. These gifts were not helping; the reinforcement of the fact Oswald cared about him was the last thing he needed, especially when he was reaching for anything to cling to that would drive them apart. 

On the up side? Oswald was still firmly in the Not Dead column. And for Ed, that was enough.

\-----

Olga was getting used to Oswald’s gushing. And ranting. He didn’t seem to do one without the other these days. Always about Mr. Nygma. Olga liked Mr. Nygma well enough, but Mr. Cobblepot was very much obsessed with the man. 

“No gloves!” Oswald shouted angrily. “No gloves, Olga. And it’s *snowing!* You’d think that if someone just got a nice pair of warm leather gloves, they’d actually wear them when it was snowing! But no! Same old black gloves as always!” Oswald threw himself petulantly into the chair by the fireplace. “Obviously I’m not on the right track. Maybe I need to go bigger.”

Or maybe they needed to sit down and talk, but Olga wasn’t going to be the one who suggested it. Olga kept her mouth shut. Life was simpler that way. 

“Ed likes the black suits. He wears those, they’re nice. So perhaps I go another way. See if he likes that.” Oswald jumped to his feet, beaming at Olga. “Thank you, Olga, for listening.”

He left Olga in the living room as he hurried towards the telephone in his home office. 

Olga just sighed. She sincerely hoped that when Mr. Cobblepot ended up murdering Mr. Nygma, that he didn’t do it in the house. Blood was terrible to get out of the rugs.

\-----

A week and a half later, a courier showed up at Ed’s office with a garment bag over his shoulder. “Edward Nygma?”

A sigh. “Yes, I’m Mr. Nygma.”

The courier thrust out a clipboard. “Please sign here. Where’d you want this?” he asked, thrusting the black bag towards Edward. 

“Coat rack by the door will be fine, thank you.” Edward scrawled his signature where it was indicated, and he brought out his wallet for the tip. 

“Oh, no, sir, everything’s already been taken care of,” the courier reassured him. “The gentleman that paid for the order added in a generous tip.” Only then did Edward notice the monogram on the shirt and the bag were an intertwined G & B. 

Edward still held out a pair of folded bills. “Nevertheless, I insist. For your troubles.” 

The courier took the tip reluctantly, tucking them into his pocket. “If you have any alterations, the tailor’s card is in the bag. Just call and make an appointment,” was his parting shot, and the courier hung the bag up and left. 

Edward gave another deep sigh as he ran his fingers over the bag. It wasn’t a cheap plastic bag by any means; it was a heavy-duty travel-type garment bag, discreetly embossed with both the Gotham Bespoke logo and Edward’s own initials on the handle tag. *E.N.* was stitched with an emerald green thread, shot through with the barest hint of shimmery thread. 

He locked the door to his office for a long moment, and slowly drew the zipper down. The bag fell open to reveal a flash of emerald green again, and Edward drew the suit out entirely. Charmeuse silk made the suit almost luminous in the hideous fluorescent lights of City Hall. Three black buttons decorated the cuffs, and the tailor’s card was tucked into the breast pocket, along with a black silk pocket square. 

The tag on the suit was small and almost unnoticed, but Edward certainly zeroed in on it. *Custom tailoring by Gotham Bespoke* was normal, even expected, but the E.N. in Gothic script and green thread certainly was not. 

He had to take a deep breath and look again. Oswald had not only gotten him a custom-tailored silk suit, but had the suit *monogrammed.* 

Carefully he tucked the suit back into the suit bag, but not before he pressed his cheek against the slick, cool fabric of the lapel. It was a beautifully dressy piece, shimmering and eye-catching. It would be absolutely perfect for the Wayne Foundation Charity Ball next week--no. Ed made himself stop thinking of the suit, and zipped it away inside the garment bag. 

At lunch, he drove the suit back to the mansion, and crammed it into the back of the closet. The black suits camouflaged the garment bag perfectly, and Ed leaned on the door to make sure it closed all the way. 

This was getting a little out of hand.

\-----

Oswald was decked out in his finest tuxedo, purple silk pocket square, and ebony-handled umbrella. He was waiting for Edward in the car, because they were going to arrive together, the Mayor and his Chief of Staff. Butch was in the front seat as security, and Gabe was driving. 

Butch turned around to look at Oswald. 

“What?” was Oswald’s impatient reply. He was trying to look out the rainy window and see if Ed was wearing the green suit tonight, but Butch was trying to get his attention.

“Nothing, Boss. Just checking the mirrors.” If that Nygma dick made them late, he was going to snap the twerp’s skinny neck. 

Oswald rolled his eyes. Butch was a very loyal, trustworthy man, but the obvious friction between him and Edward was making Oswald think twice about keeping him around. But, there was honestly no one else he would trust with his and Ed’s safety. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to Zsasz again and try tweaking Butch’s brain again. 

Those thoughts were derailed as Edward finally came out, dressed in a plain black tuxedo. Oswald’s expression grew stormy, and Butch couldn’t help glaring at Nygma as he came out. “Ready to go?” is all he asked, waiting until Ed had closed his umbrella and slid into the back with Oswald. 

“Absolutely,” was Ed’s answer, leaning the dripping umbrella next to Oswald’s. 

Oswald didn’t say a word.

\-----

Ten days after the Wayne Foundation ball, a round hat box was delivered to Ed at his office. The box was low-key and emblazoned with the crisp WW of Worth & Worth, New York. Removing the lid from the hat box revealed a dark brown bowler, which fit perfectly when he tried it on. 

*A timeless piece classically proportioned with its 2 ½” brim and round crown.

The felt has been hardened to maintain the solid characteristic and integrity of the original Bowler.

 

Finished with a grosgrain bound edge and matching hatband.

Composition: 100% wild rabbit  
Professional cleaning only*

Edward dropped the informational brochure about the hat back into the box, and slowly pulled the hat from his head. He could quite easily see how the hat and the gloves, along with the silk suit, would make for an eye-catching, extravagant figure, and part of him yearned to try it all on. 

But he crammed those desires back into the hatbox, along with the hat, and closed them both tightly. He wanted to go into Oswald’s office to thank him for the lovely gift, to reassure him that every single thing he’d done was appreciated, but that was not to be. The hat box went into the office’s tiny closet until lunchtime, and then got moved to the trunk of his car. 

When he got home that evening, Edward carried the hat box like a delicate thing, and shook his head at the state of things. He was going to have to move the puzzle pieces around, make room on the top shelf so the hat didn’t get crushed. He moved a pair of Italian leather dress shoes to the floor of the closet, and pushed a pair of Upton Optics binoculars further to the side so he could wedge the hatbox in its place. 

Ed was feeling a bit more panicked by the day, because the urge to go and *do something* about Oswald sending him these presents was growing harder and harder to resist. They varied between exceptionally mundane--like the collection of puzzle boxes--to the exceptionally extravagant--like the silk suit. It was obvious that Oswald was growing more and more desperate for Ed’s attention, and Edward was growing more and more desperate to give it to him. 

\-----

Oswald was in a *state.* He’d been watching to see Ed come out of the office with his new hat on; instead, he was treated to the sight of Ed carrying the hatbox out of the building like it was something shameful. He was both angry at himself and ashamed of himself, for trying to buy Ed’s affection with things, but he didn’t know any other way to go about it. 

The gulf between him and Ed was growing every day; he was always gone before breakfast, and although they always shared dinner, it was impossible to feel like they’d felt before. Ed often brought up Isabella during dinner, which invariably irritated Oswald, and he went to bed in the evenings feeling worse instead of better. 

He’d almost quit hoping to find Ed at breakfast, because the lurch in his stomach when he saw the empty place at the table invariably made him ill, and he couldn’t afford to keep skipping breakfast. Neither could his staff, who were in daily danger of getting stabbed in the face if they looked at him wrong.

So, as he watched Ed pass through the front doors of City Hall, he promised himself that he wouldn’t be expecting his friend for breakfast any longer. But he couldn’t stand to think that Edward might not be his friend any longer.

\-----

The gifts were coming daily now, mostly small things. Ed’s favorite candies, a book of ancient riddles and puzzles. A Chinese finger-puzzle, a bag of question-mark shaped party favor rings. Every delivery, whether to the office or his bedroom, brought Oswald back to the forefront of his thoughts, a place he’d never left for long. And each gift made Ed smile with the thoughtfulness of the choices.

His favorite, so far, had been just a little handwritten note from Oswald, dropped off on his desk with a stack of paperwork. The envelope had been white, and the card inside was store-bought, an Emperor Penguin with an egg on its flippery feet. Inside, Oswald had just scribbled a quick thought--*Hope you’re feeling better after your recent loss!*

Truth be told, he hadn’t thought of Isabella in weeks. The GCPD had called the Mayor’s office, saying that they were going to be working with the police in another city; Isabella had gotten to the town, but had never showed up for the convention. No one knew that she’d been dating Ed specifically; they’d mentioned a new boyfriend that might’ve gone with her. Oswald had thanked Harvey for keeping his office informed, told Ed that everything had gone according to plan, and that was it. Neither had mentioned her since, and Ed was shocked to realize he had not thought of her since that day.

The penguin card was tucked into the corner of the picture frame holding his certificate from Arkham.

He was going to have to take it down, he knew that. If anyone looked at the inscription, he’d be at a loss to explain it. Unless he claimed a pet, which he was considering. A bird, perhaps, adopted from a shelter that became ill and died. Except that hit a bit too close to home, dead birds, so he was still mulling the idea. Until then, the card stayed where it was. 

It was ten or twelve steps backwards, keeping the card on display, because every time he looked up at it, there was Oswald. Real nice job of keeping his distance.

Today’s gift was delivered to City Hall, a box small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. This box rattled when he shook it, and loosening the green ribbon holding the lid on revealed a key fob. 

He followed the deliveryman outside, and clicked the lock button. In front of City Hall was parked a green sports car, and the lights blinked once as Ed pressed the button.

This one definitely wasn’t going to fit in the closet.

Pressing the fob to his teeth, Edward tried to muffle the insane-sounding giggles that were leaking out of him. This was it. This was the final, ultimate thing. No more, he couldn’t take it, it was over, done with. He was absolutely, positively going to have to kill that Penguin.

Then an instant later, he registered what he said, and bolted back into the building. He had to get out of there before he actually followed through on that killer instinct. If he was lucky, he’d have time to get it under control before Oswald got home.

\-----

Two weeks later, Oswald was edgy and frustrated. He sniped at innocent questions, barely held it together for public appearances, and was shooting nasty glares towards Edward whenever Ed’s back was turned. He had been watching, carefully, and noticed that Edward had *not* worn a single one of the new shirts that Oswald had given him, nor had Ed worn the cufflinks or the tie pin. He wasn’t carrying the knife, wasn’t wearing the new suit--although it was probably too dressy for City Hall--or the new hat. The new sports car? Still parked in the garage.

So, Oswald had taken things into his own hands. After discovering that yet again, Ed had left before breakfast, Oswald went into Ed’s bedroom. Everything was neat and orderly, and Oswald made a beeline for the closet. Yanking the door open confirmed every worst thing he’d ever thought of. Inside the closet was a jigsaw puzzle of boxes and packages, everything either unopened or opened once and re-packaged. 

He didn’t notice the care with which everything had been placed, didn’t notice the careful organization that meant Ed was aware of the contents of every single box and didn’t want the contents maimed in any way. All Oswald could see was stacks upon stacks of utter rejection.

Heading for City Hall was probably not the best decision ever; it was filled with witnesses, and Oswald was giving consideration to stabbing Edward in the face. But, by the time he arrived, there were things that needed his attention and he couldn’t get free to address the Nygma Enigma.

A brief giggle, because Ed would certainly appreciate the joke. But he squelched the amusement, trying to hang onto the anger and the hurt instead. His schedule was busier than he would like, and he ended up working straight through lunch and chugging down coffee from the vending machine instead of espresso from Starbucks. By the time he was done, it was three in the afternoon, and he was fed up with everyone. 

The annoyance was starting to leak over into his work. The Mayor’s office was partnering with several of Gotham’s high schools, and there were a lot of little senior boys and girls darting around the office, fetching coffee, making copies, and generally getting underfoot. 

One in particular was named Delia, and she was catching the brunt of Oswald’s bad mood because she had the misfortune to be assigned to Edward as an aide. Poor little Delia was starting to scurry out of the way every time she saw Oswald coming. And he *noticed* that she was scurrying, which just annoyed him *even more.*

On the other hand, Edward was floating on cloud nine. Two whole weeks, and he hadn’t murdered Oswald yet! The gifts had *finally* stopped, which had made it somewhat easier. But it might have been a personal record for him, given that he and Kristen hadn’t dated that long before he’d killed her, and he’d been with Isabella even less. He was so busy congratulating himself that he didn’t even notice that Oswald was actively terrorizing his poor little aide. “Delia!”

“Yes, Mr. Nygma?” Delia popped up at the call of her name, eyes darting side to side as she looked for the Mayor.

“I’m heading home for the day; I have a couple of errands to run. If anyone calls, let the know I’ll get back to them first thing tomorrow morning.” He gave the girl a distracted smile as he gathered up his things. 

“Of course, Mr. Nygma.” She was relieved that she didn’t have to actually interact with Mayor Cobblepot this time, and she offered a little grin of her own. “Have a nice evening, sir.”

\-----

“Edward!” 

Nearly half the mayor’s office looked up in surprise. Hearing the mayor shout for his chief of staff was a daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence. The tone of this shout, however, was more than a little angry, and, if you asked, somewhat desperate.

“Mr. Nygma’s gone for the day, Mayor, I’m sorry,” answered Ed’s timid little aide. “He left about fifteen minutes ago, I thought you knew.”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be shouting, then would I?” Oswald’s patience was waning fast. If he didn’t get out of this office and find Edward, he was going to blow something up. Possibly literally. 

Delia quickly jumped out of his way, and watched quietly as the Mayor of Gotham barreled out of City Hall as fast as his feet would carry him.

“Well, have a good evening, Mayor!” Delia yelled after him, startled and still shaking.

\---

“EDWARD!” The front door to Oswald’s mansion slammed open, double-echoing with the thunder that seemed to be omnipresent in Gotham these days. 

“Yes?” The calm answer came as Edward walked into the foyer, shaking out his overcoat with one hand and carrying a hangar in the other. “You’re home early.”

Home early, like there was nothing amiss. Ed had obviously been home long enough to get comfortable, wearing the gold and brocade robe that Oswald had given him the first night he’d arrived. “Well, between the five policy meetings, two photo opportunities, and six interviews, I managed to miss lunch!” Deep breath. “So I came home a little early to have dinner so I didn’t slaughter the entire office!”

“I’m sorry about that, Oswald. I haven’t been as careful as I should have been with your scheduling, lately,” Ed admitted sheepishly. After setting a schedule that first week, he’d unintentionally let it slide, meaning Oswald got over-scheduled by the more ignorant aides. “I promise that first thing tomorrow morning, I will take care of it. I’ll see to it that you’re not over-scheduled again, and I’ll have lunch brought in for you.” 

Like any of that actually mattered to Oswald right now. “Ed, what’s going on with you? Have I done something? If I have, please, say something, because I thought we were friends and right now, you’re not acting very friendly!”

“Of course we’re friends, Oswald,” Ed reassured. In fact, if he cared to examine things closely, he was probably Ed’s best and only friend. But he did not say such a thing aloud, because it was getting more and more difficult to maintain the distance he was planting between them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! Ever since that… that… Isabella person, you have been pushing me as far away as you can. At first I thought it was an overreaction to what happened, that you were worried or, or, too upset to talk about it. But then you just kept pushing!” if he’d had it in him, Oswald would’ve been horrified to hear the distraught tone in his voice. But he didn’t care. He simply plowed onwards. “It’s like I can almost feel your hands on my back shoving me further and further away!”

The mention of Oswald feeling his hands jolted Edward deeply; for a brief moment he teetered on the brink of a paralyzing dissociation because he had feared exactly that. But instead of shoving, he’d feared strangling, killing, dismembering. Then he righted himself, almost jumping out of his skin when Oswald grabbed him. “What--”

Oswald was shaking Ed, hard. “Don’t you dare leave me, not when I’m yelling at you!” Because he’d recognized the glassy-eyed catatonic stare from before, and he was shaking Ed roughly to keep him focused. “I just don’t understand!”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Ed offered gently, trying to disentangle Oswald’s fists from the robe lapels. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” Oswald tightened his grip the more Ed tried to pull him off. “Safe. In Gotham? That’s hilarious. There is no such thing as safe.”

“Safe from *me,* Oswald,” Ed stressed, giving up on trying to loosen his friend’s grip. “Safe from me.”

“You’re an idiot!” Oswald shouted in return, shaking him again just for the frustrated delight of hearing Ed’s teeth clack. “I don’t have to be protected from you. You keep me safe, and I keep you safe. That’s how it works, that’s what we do. You watch my back and I watch yours.”

No, that really wasn’t how it worked. Edward made sure nobody--including himself--had a chance to get close enough to Oswald to harm him. Which was a somewhat difficult task given Oswald’s tendency to let in anyone who showed him even the smallest amount of affection. And in return, Ed was fairly certain that Oswald would cheerfully shoot God himself in the face, if only Ed would ask. 

“No, that isn’t how it works,” Ed tried to explain. “You are… my best friend. Certainly my only friend. And I have amply proven that I am dangerous even--or perhaps, most especially--towards those I care deeply for. You are the only person left that means anything to me, Oswald, and I would not have anything happen to you because of me.” He realized that he used Oswald’s name more and more frequently, only for the little shiver of pleasure it gave him to use it. 

Oswald started yanking at the robe Ed was wearing. “This was my father’s robe, Ed, and then it was mine, and I gave it to you because I wanted YOU to feel safe, like my father made me feel safe! Take it off, give it to me! You obviously don’t understand what it means, so give it back!” 

Ed was astonished to see Oswald in such a frenzy, and he tried to gently fend off the impulsive grabbing. He was even more stunned to see the tracks of frustrated tears wending down Oswald’s face, and he put his arms around Oswald to still the struggles. 

Whatever noise Oswald made was lost in the muffling of Ed’s shoulder. As soon as he felt the embrace, Oswald wrapped his arms around Ed, squeezing hard enough to make his ribs creak. “Stupid, stupid idiot!” he shouted, punching Edward lightly in the back even as he clung tightly to him. “Idiot,” he repeated again. “Stupid moron, you could never hurt me. You gave me the election, Ed, you made me see that I can be loved, so why can’t you see it?”

Eager, Oswald was so eager to be loved, aggressively and actively pursuing the chance of affection, and Edward was no better. The heat of the fire at his back, the warmth of the coffee burbling inside him, the melancholy of the moment swirling around his thoughts, Edward was able to admit that he and Oswald were very much the same, or rather, were very complementary. 

Oswald, so actively starved for affection that even friendship offered was tantamount to a declaration of love, and Edward himself, with so much caring and friendship to offer that it was off-putting to someone without the same echoing intensity. *Someone normal,* the voice in his head pointed out. *So you finally figured out he loves you. About time. I was beginning to think you’d never pick up on it.*

He ignored that voice, instead concentrating on the crackling of the fire to drown it out. Oswald was still holding onto him, and Ed had made no move to release him. “Oswald, please.”

“Please nothing!” Oswald shoved Edward back at that, breaking the grip that held them together. “You don’t want anything from me, so how would I think you’d want to be friends?” 

That Oswald might have intruded on Ed’s privacy didn’t even occur to him. What he did know was he had been studiously ignoring everything Oswald had bought him, and he was not surprised Oswald had noticed. Wasn’t that the point, making him angry enough to pull away and be safe? 

Only now that it was happening, Edward was freaking out just a little bit. “I do appreciate everything you have given me,” he hurried to reassure. “I just… Do you remember me telling you that I was afraid that I’d end up hurting you? Just two weeks ago, I had the thought that I was going to have to kill you.” He diplomatically didn’t mention the car. “Can you imagine, Oswald, hearing the very thought in your head that you’ve been most terrified of, and wondering if you were going to act on it? Take that switchblade and plunge it--”

Oswald was laughing. Actually laughing, without bitterness. “Ed! Two weeks ago, I gave you the Bentley! You were fed up with me, which you were supposed to be! You were supposed to think you were going to kill me if I didn’t stop, and you were supposed to come and talk to me!” 

That revelation stunned Edward, and he had to sit down for a moment to consider it. “You’re…” He’d been so concerned with himself being a danger to Oswald that he hadn’t for a moment considered that Oswald might’ve been reaching out to him beyond making an impression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… know.”

“Obviously!” Oswald just shook his head fondly at Ed, wondering how in the hell the man had survived his entire existence. “You’re so busy thinking that you’re going to end up killing me that, surprise, I made you want to kill me!” A fantastic shrug. “That’s the point, all right? You haven’t been talking to me, you haven’t been sleeping, you’re not really eating, and well, I’m worried. I care about you, Ed.” 

“You care about me.” A statement that Ed had no trouble believing, because Oswald had been the person in his corner from the first moment of their friendship. “You love me?”

“Uh, yes!” The admission slipped out before Oswald thought about it. He was instantly shocked, but the truth of it was there between them, unable to be revoked. 

Ed bit his lower lip once, gauging what that meant. “You’re not afraid of me?”

Oswald came and sat on the couch beside Ed. “Are you afraid of me?” he countered. “Let’s face it, Ed, I’ve killed, or had killed, way more people than you.”

“Of course I’m not,” Ed answered quickly. “You’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“Well then!” Oswald gave a delighted clap. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

“Because the other two people I loved, I killed.” Ed met Oswald’s eyes squarely. “Doesn’t that make you worry?”

“No, because unlike them? I know you, Ed, and if you want to get angry and take a swipe at me? I’m man enough to take one back. I give as good as I get, and you know that. You try to hurt me, I’m going to hurt you back. I’m not alone, because I have you, and I’m not helpless.” 

Ed brought a hand up to brush over Oswald’s cheek, then dropped it to his shoulder. He used the grip to haul Oswald into a tight embrace, which Oswald returned without hesitation. “I’m sorry,” Ed said into Oswald’s hair, which was poking him in the mouth and cheek. He didn’t care. 

“Want to make it up to me?” Oswald pulled back enough to see Ed’s face. “Go to bed, early. I’ll have Olga bring you up some warm milk, and I’ll run a hot bath for you. You need to get a good night’s sleep, because you’ve been having… what, nightmares? Every night.”

Ed just nodded. “Nightmares would be a good term for it.” 

“You want to tell me about them?” Oswald was holding Ed’s hand in his lap, offering support. 

“Not tonight.” Ed felt the warmth of Oswald’s hands, and rubbed his thumb along Oswald’s. 

“Okay. Let me find Olga, and you go upstairs.” Oswald got to his feet, relieved to finally be able to do *something* to help. 

“Thank you again, Oswald. For proving that you are a good friend.” Ed got to his feet, and watched Oswald beam brightly in answer before hurrying out to the kitchen. 

\-----

Two glasses of warm milk and one hot bath later, Ed was wearing a pair of monogrammed silk pajamas and was being tucked in by Oswald. Wind and rain beat against the window, providing a sort of white noise that was helping make him sleepy. 

“My mother always read to me if I was having bad dreams,” Oswald said. “Would you like me to read to you?”

Ed shook his head. “No, but if you’d like to stay until I fall asleep, I’d like that.” 

Oswald kicked off his slippers and, after making sure the comforter was tucked snugly around Ed, slid on top of the blanket and rolled onto his side. “My pleasure,” Oswald said quietly, and propped his head on his hand. 

Ed looked over, and realized that Oswald was smiling as he watched him. “You’re smiling,” Ed pointed out. 

“Am I?” Oswald knew he was, and didn’t care. Watching Ed always made him smile. 

“You are.” Ed smiled back, and he turned the lamp off. Moonlight filtered in through the window, keeping it from complete darkness. Oswald stayed still, and soon enough, Ed was asleep.

About four in the morning, Ed woke screaming. He flailed for a moment, feeling tied down until he realized it wasn’t ropes, it was arms. Oswald was holding him, talking to him in a quiet, calm voice. 

“--that’s right, come back to me, Ed. You’re not trapped wherever you are, you’re here, with me. It’s okay, just come back to me, please. I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Just come back.” Oswald’s fingers were stroking through his hair, and somehow, Ed had ended up wrapped around Oswald’s chest, all but curled in his lap. “There you are.”

“Oswald.” Ed had to reassure himself; his nightmare had been that Kristen and Isabella had teamed up to murder Oswald, and Ed himself had been helpless to stop them. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here, and you’re fine. We’re both unhurt.” He made no move to let go of Ed, keeping him pressed in close and comforting him. “We’re okay, Ed, I promise.”

Edward could feel his frantic heartbeat slowing, and it became much easier to breathe as he made out the details of the bedroom in the dim light. Oswald’s voice comforted him even more, and he closed his eyes again, leaving his head on Oswald’s chest. “Can I go back to sleep?”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Oswald answered, knowing what Ed was really asking. “I’ll stay just as long as you want.”

As Edward drifted off again, he had the strange thought that forever sounded just about right to him, but, comforted by Oswald’s presence, he fell asleep before he could voice the sentiment. But that was okay. He was pretty sure Oswald knew it anyway.

The End


End file.
